


Copulative Dissonance

by Vulgarweed



Category: Lucifer (Comic)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Lucifer and Mazikeen were happy, and one time they weren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Copulative Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laure Alexander (ladyoneill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/gifts).



**1\. If I Leave Here Tomorrow, Would You Still Remember Me?**

 

In the end, it’s the monotony of Hell that gives Lucifer the final motivation, the push to do what he has dreamed of for millennia – to kick out the whining damned, close the gates, put the chairs up on the tables, turn out the lights, and give away the key.

 He’s already thinking through all the stages as he kisses her. He’s dreading the scarring and pain when he will give up his wings. The raw muscles, the blood and bone on the skinless half of her face are a reassurance to him: they are both body and spirit. So beautiful, Mazikeen. So brave. So willing to show her own inner workings, to open wide as his tongue explores the open side of her mouth, caressing her cheek from the inside, skating over her teeth and her seared, peeling lip.

 Some find her hard to understand when she speaks. He doesn’t – he hears her thoughts a millisecond before she voices them, and they spin in his head for moments after she has spoken, and he savors them. In this place where nothing has purpose, she is _all_ purpose.

 Her courtly submission is a the only thing about her that Lucifer ever thought the least bit false. It goes well with his need to pretend he doesn’t need her….and by the time he realized it was no lie, he was already wrapped like spirit-skin in the totality of her fierce love.

 For the last time, he thinks, his wings beat like a trapped sparrow as she pulls him down to her.

 He will try to shake her, and he will fail. For some reason, he is fine with this.

 

**2\. A Tale of the Esa, That is Not Told in Front of Foals.**

When my mother’s mother’s sister, Esa-Kira, made her journey to the land where the Maker dwelt, to bring him the dire message, when she risked death and dishonor at the hands of two-leggeds in their terrible, iron world, when she painted in her own blood the dream of death and fire…

 There were other things that she saw, engraved in the blood that ran between her fingers. Our people have dread of rage and war, but we saw the Maker had no fear of such things, for he had a sorceress of his own to protect him and fight beside him.

 And what a sorceress she was. Berserker, but full of skill. Half-faced and one-eyed, but full of sight.

 And when the Maker doubted, when he hesitated, when he tried to shut another door and leave another world yet again, she ceased to call him ‘My Lord’ and addressed him in the language of heat. To seduce him, to caress him, to ride him, to possess him.

Some who have heard my tale do not believe me. I have been asked, ‘How can it be that the female can mount the male?’ I only tell them, stop thinking with your haunches. (There is laughter from the audience).

 A better question, from those who have seen the Maker unrobed, is, does he not lack the wand and the jewels?

 Ha! Esa-Kira saw, when they coupled. When the Maker’s skin lights up in gold and the woman he belongs to exults, it is made of _fire_. Fire that does not, cannot, harm her. Only pleasure. No, even we women of the People do not know this spell. Do not ask us to try it.

 Heya! I have told my tale. Do not try this at home.

**3\. Mother of the Future **

This simply has to be a dream.  After all, there is no reason Morpheus should be a friend to her. This could – would only happen in a dream.

 Mazikeen has never been motherly, not in the least.  Although she is a daughter of the most prodigious of mothers, this was never a form of magic she wanted; the womb so eager to quicken that even an angel’s sterility is no object. (Were this common, surely the child Elaine could have been made more easily, she thinks, not in the least bit bitterly.)

 For a dream, though. the memories are terribly vivid and not at all nightmarish; the swelling, the tenderness, the _moving inside_. Lucifer’s hand on her taut rounded belly, to feel the strong, healthy kicks, to sense the forming babe with all his terrible brightness and power. All those feelings were so concrete at the time that the ghosts of them still pulse in her breasts and belly as she holds the sleeping infant. But when she gave birth to him, it was only a stretching and an opening and a hint of a struggle; sometimes as if her body were reluctant to let go of her son, sometimes as if the baby were reluctant to leave. Couldn’t entirely blame him, after all. It’s a hard multiverse out here, and his daddy’s power and influence weren’t going to make his life any easier. And yet for Mazikeen—there had been _no pain_. She had almost screamed out of sheer surprise at the lack of it. She had, to tell the truth, been disappointed. Wasn’t it supposed to feel, in some respect, like a battle?

 Sometimes Lucifer misunderstood her when he was kind in his cruel way. Of course, he would never let the curse of Eve touch the mother of _his_ child.

 The boy, who has a secret Name that is a mother’s prerogative, wakes up and squeaks slightly, reaching for her breast. Just like _him_, but for different reasons.

 “Hello, my Lord,” she says wryly as Lucifer tries and fails to be stealthy.

 “Hello, my Lady,” he says, kissing the side of her forehead most tenderly (the side that should be raw exposed muscle and isn’t). He caresses the baby’s fine fringe of golden hair.

 Mazikeen has never wanted to be burdened with a child to keep, and she is still glad her beloved has promised her she will not have to raise him. The child has a purpose, and it is better that he be far away from the machinations of Hell and its extensive diaspora, safe among humans until his time has come. She is honestly glad of this—shaping a young consciousness is no talent of hers. But, as she looks sidelong at Lucifer – scheming as always, yet with eyes strangely shining—and down at their child, she is unspeakably glad that this baby is here –something of both of them, and yet something entirely new.

 “My love,” she finally says, reluctant to shatter the peace of their embrace. “Are you really so sure that Hastur, Ligur, and Crawly are the best couriers for such an important mission?”

 “I’m very sure—they’re the best we have. They are the ones whose incompetence is so deep and profound they are the most certain to monkeywrench the Plan in inventive and entertaining ways that even I can’t anticipate.” He stops chuckling at the look on her face. “With no harm coming to the boy, of course. I will give you my _word_ on that.”

 

**4\. “This will be our marriage. Our union.”**

 Mazikeen has always wanted above all to be herself. At the last, he has partly taken that away from her. She always wanted to love and be loved _by_ him—never, ever to _become _him. This joining, in its way, is the opposite of Creation in a way Lucifer must have liked. When Yahweh made the world, he separated parts of himself from himself, so that those parts might meet and see and know each other, to know the joy of selfhood as well as that of reunion. To feel the delight of learning another, through touch and thought. To explore that which is new and unfamiliar. Even the not-negligible joy of fighting that which is hostile. Mazikeen has known all these joys.

There are some joys, fished from between the cracks in the original Creation, that are most cherished. The love of Lucifer, as an Other, she shall never know again.

When she flexes the power, as sometimes she must, she will feel his presence again—but inside her, indistinguishable, where she cannot look upon it or touch it. And to make it worse, since he made her the new Morningstar, she is now partly him and less purely herself.

Perhaps, eventually, Elaine could “fix” it. As Lucifer once, after long hope, fixed her face as a parting gift. Perhaps. But that would countermand Lucifer’s will, and as he was once the great stumbling block of God—any God. And Elaine is too wise to change that.

Mazikeen has never, ever adjusted to change well. Now she must try, for _his _sake. He would want her to find a way to feel a purpose again.


End file.
